Motd

poetry

Unorganized, but beautiful
An incessant plea
A testomonony of suffering
And of happiness
Weaved as I pick my way through life.
Abrupt, uncontrolled, incomprehencable, random, and raw.
Funny. Me.

“I may disagree with what you say, but I will defend to the death your right to say it.”

Voltaire

All my friends found their people
And so I find myself
Alone.

I stare at your hair
Wishing somehow
I could be enough

I feel life for the very first time
Love in my arms
The sun in my eyes
I feel safe in the 5am light
You carry my fears
As the heavens set fire

Oh wonder

He would write beautiful code, code written just because it could be done, rather than to solve a particular problem. He wrote code because it was fun, and the code was justified by its own existence.

Eleanor McHugh, ona _why